A Proposal on Taking Your Newsmagazine to the Next Level, 1

I keep telling myself that things could be worse. They could be so much worse than smooth jazz. I imagine pregnancies and broken fingers, birth defects and rapists with bad breath, death, dismemberment, and smiling Republican presidents. I imagine being asked to 'rock the vote.' Yes things could always be worse, but when I'm sitting beneath those flickering fluorescent lights in that cold and barren building, sitting with the ugly white glare of the computer all over my face and the smooth jazz pouring all over my ears, I just can't deny it to myself any longer. This is the fucking worst job I've ever had in my whole life.

I mean, keep in mind that I worked at Burger King when I was 16. Remember that? I would come home every night with grease dripping from the ends of every hair. Keep in mind that I worked as a deli slicer in college. I would come home every day with the stench of meat encrusted into my pores. It was terrible. You remember. But this, this is so much worse. Every day that I'm here I wish I was cooking burgers for fat suburbanites instead.

I work 40 hours a week at a newsmagazine targeting the African diaspora community in the city. I know that doesn't sound bad but trust me. When I answer their internet ad for an assistant editor they say they're getting ready to launch a new magazine for ethnic families. The magazine is going to be called 'Ethnic Family'. Only it turns out I'm not editing at all. I'm writing. I'm writing product reviews of 'gifts for dad' for the holidays. What kind of ties do black fathers want? What kind of aftershave are Hispanic uncles dying for this season? I didn't know that generic holiday gifts had any particular ethnic angles to them but now I have to find them, figure them out, explain them, and play them up to try to sell lucrative related advertising.

So every day I sit here and listen to smooth jazz and want to punch myself in the throat for the low, low cost of only $8 an hour.

I should have never left you.